Tales of Monsters and Mentors
by nightfuries
Summary: Spinel August is an intense, emotionless victor. Zeus Dynamos is reckless and determined. Lura Carson, sweet and polite. Splendor Gold, harsh and hostile. Arren Burch, shy and quiet. But do we really know these mentors well? Here are the true accounts from the lives of Hunger Games victors - and they might not be what they seem. Sort of a companion piece to A Grimm Set of Games.


**_It is here! The first installment in the series of oneshots I promised about the Grimm Set of Games victors. I figured it'd be fitting to begin with a POV from the very first victor himself :) Also, I'd originally planned on making these things much more of a "stand alone story", so even those who haven't read a Grimm Set of Games could still enjoy. However, as always with my writing, things never go according to plan, and this oneshot ends up relating a lot more to A Grimm Set of Games than I thought it would. But only one chapter, really. So, if anyone doesn't want to read the entire Grimm Set of Games (understandable, it is LONG), you could just skim the beginning and end POVs of chapter 47 to learn the history discussed in this chapter :)_**

**_Also, I absolutely suck with judging ratings. So for now, I'm keeping this at T, but I may bump it up to M relatively soon. If anyone thinks it should be M now, or at any point when I've failed to change the rating, please let me know. Thank you :)_**

**_Anyways, enjoy!_**

* * *

_One day after the completion of the 2__nd __Games . . ._

**Spinel August, District 1, Victor of the 1****st**** Hunger Games**

"Miss Fellasia has already announced it on her LifeStory profile," Ternatius Pumpleton says excitedly, eager to please his president. "And it's all over sites such as Teen Talk and Capichat. Her friends all seem insanely jealous, and even those with no relation to the girl are hearing about it. So far, it's a huge hit!"

The president all but ignores his assistant, his eyes focused entirely on my own. Gregorio Deutschten may like my father, much as a master likes his loyal lapdog, but he's never seemed to enjoy my company. It's nothing new; many people feel the same. Some say my eyes, steel grey and without any hint of emotion, make them feel uncomfortable.

Though it appeared to have to opposite effect on Fellasia Strombin, who saw it as a challenge. _"Let's see if I can make those eyes smile,"_ she'd whispered in my ear. To her credit, she had tried her very best.

I'd wanted to throw up.

I _still _want to throw up.

"And the profits?" Ternatius is interrupted mid-rant as he lists the various social networks discussing this new _activity_; seems the president cares less for the happiness of his people and more so for the money in his bank. It's hard to believe citizens of the Capitol voted for him of their own free will, but he was elected in a time of war – I'm sure Head of Military Defence would have seemed like a fine choice at the time. But these are peace times now – at least, we're supposed to believe they are – and I can't envision President Deutschten holding his post for much longer.

Perhaps this is the thought he sees when he looks in my eyes; it would explain his dislike for me.

"Well, the first one was a trial run, obviously," Ternatius says, and the wide smile is purple lips form makes it seems as though he's trying to make a joke. No one laughs. "But everyone is posting offers, for both Mr August," he nods in my direction, "And the newly crowned victor. They're quite high, sir."

He offers the president a page, filled with what are no doubt price listings, and Gregorio nods, uttering a single grunt to show his satisfaction. "Good." He lifts his eyes off the page, gold irises contrasting with my silver. "You're free to go, Mr August. Expect to hear from us shortly."

Because it's too much to ask for them to just leave me alone. I nod curtly, rising from the hard, wooden chair to exit the president's office. There's an escort waiting right outside, though not the frilly, yellow and orange ball of energy that reaps tributes and sets up sponsors; this man is all serious, here to make sure I don't run amok inside the president's mansion. I've been here multiple times, and always thought this extra guard was ridiculous. But now, for the first time, I feel like grabbing the closest, priceless vase and hurling it straight at the ornate chandelier, before sprinting down the hall to see what other kind of mayhem I can cause.

Yet I don't, and instead allow myself to be led outside, where the same limo that picked me up from Fellasia's is waiting. And for a moment, my stomach twists with a powerful emotion – not fear, but disgust. I don't want to get into that vehicle, most certainly, definitely, _do not_. Last night, it drove me to hell. Today wasn't much different.

_Just going back to the Centre,_ I tell myself, forcing my hand to stretch out and open the car door. _Just going back to the Centre. _Still, it takes all of my willpower to overcome my desire to run, though my resolve nearly breaks as the engine starts. _Just going to the Centre._ _Think about it: warm shower, food, a long awaited change of clothes . . ._

It's then that I notice her sitting across from me, legs swinging and hitting the seat with a rhythmic _thump, thump, thump_ that seems to be in sync with my heart beat.

I refuse to acknowledge her while in the presence of another person, even if it's only the driver. Though with the glass panel separating him from the rest of the car, he can't hear a word I'd say anyways. Maybe it isn't exactly having somebody else around, then – maybe I just can't stand talking to her.

Like all the other times I've seen her, she doesn't force a conversation, and the drive back to the Training Centre is a silent one. I'm determinedly looking out the window to distract myself, yet each passing building reminds me of _Fellasia's house, Fellasia's house, Fellasia's house, _and before I know it, my nails are digging into my palm, trying to drown out the memories with a more immediate pain.

It doesn't work.

Luckily the ride isn't all that long, and before I know it, I'm hopping out of the car and striding briskly into the Training Centre. And, despite the fact that I'm more than a foot taller, that my legs are quite a bit longer, she somehow manages to keep up.

The lobby is empty when I enter it and I don't care to know where the escort or stylists are. Instead, I head straight for the elevator, jabbing the 12 button and firmly ignoring the girl as she slips right between the closing doors. I should go to my floor, perhaps find something there to help me feel better – but I don't want to risk running into someone up there.

The twelfth floor, at least, I'd figured would be empty. But the clanking and crashing noises say differently, reaching my ears as the elevator opens once more. No one's in my immediate sight, however, and I take the opportunity to sneak over to tribute hall, where I know, after the two doors leading to bedrooms, there will be a stairwell that takes me to the roof.

The sounds seem to be coming _from _that hall, however, and I find myself almost gliding across the floor in an attempt to remain quiet – my little follower, of course, is silent as the grave. We stop outside one of the bedrooms as a loud _thump!_ is heard inside, followed by a muttered curse and a shout of "I told you not to put that there!" I don't want to get caught, just want to be left alone – but I can't resist peering in to have a look.

Two construction workers are inside . . . no, _one _construction worker, and what appears to be a twelve-year-old boy. I'd assume it's her son, but it's never easy to tell in the Capitol; while in the districts, you can look at faces and identify similar features, here, people have had so many surgeries and tattoos that you can't discern anything. Though neither of these two seem to have had much work done, and I can clearly see the similar long noses, the high cheekbones they both share. Must be a poorer family then – in the Capitol, you can tell someone's status by how unnatural their appearance is.

"Mom, I'm sorry, I just- I told you, I'm no good at building things!"

The woman sighs and rubs her temples. "It's fine, Kelwin. And we're not building anything, we're just covering a few dents. So please, try to keep the tools out of the way."

"I shouldn't have even come, I hate construction work!"

"Hey, it is a solid job with good pay." When the boy stares at her, big eyes not comprehending a word, she sighs again. "You'll understand when you're older. Not everyone can become Gamemakers and stylists."

"But that's what I want to do!"

"Kelwin, there's too much luck involved with those careers, you have no guarantee for the future. And anyways, look at you, already going on construction jobs! You'll be ahead of everyone else in the field."

"I hate Take Your Kid to Work Day."

The last line is mumbled, and I don't think the mother hears it, because she doesn't comment. Or maybe she does. I'm not sure; I'm too distracted with the wall behind them. My eyes have finally found the "dents" they were hired to cover and the memories brought back are none too pleasant.

_They murdered during war and now they murder during "peace"!_

_The rebellion was quenched, but our fires still burn_

_Down with the Capitol, and all their supporters!_

_- Cailen and Dany Meine_

During his time in the Capitol, Cailen must have brought a knife back from dinner, and used it to carve his message all across the wall. I forgot this was his floor, with his and his sister's rooms . . .

The thought gets my feet moving again, and before I know it, I'm slipping quickly into the stairwell and climbing up to the roof. It was a place I'd found last year, also courtesy of the Meine siblings – one of the last thing Danysa said before we murdered her in front of her brother's eyes. _"On the roof, in the garden, under the third potted tree. Please . . ."_ she'd whispered, as I'd knelt down to slit her throat and finally put an end to her pain.

I'd nearly forgotten about it until the night before I was set to leave the Capitol. The roof was monitored, of course, but if the wind happened to be blowing a certain way, the camera would be obscured by one of the larger trees and its swaying leaves. So mine were the only eyes that ever saw Danysa Meine's last gift.

_To whoever has won these dreaded Games,_

_Cailen, I hope this is you. If not, hopefully Ceedna, Harv, Lacey or Denym. But if whoever's reading this is not my brother, or any of my allies, then this might be harder than I thought. Especially if you're a Career._

_These Games cannot be allowed to continue. Please understand, they just can't. They take innocent lives and throw them away, something that's just unacceptable. If you are a Career, you would have been part of an alliance. And all of those alliance members would be dead. Is that fair? I'm sure you must've grown to be friends, or at the very least trust each other. Is it fair that those people, the ones who helped you to survive, had to die? No._

_But it's not your fault. Not anyone's fault except the Capitol's. The Hunger Games are sick, twisted, evil to the highest degree. But do you remember the speech they gave us, at the beginning of all this when we were lined up in those ridiculous costumes for the chariot rides? The victor gains immunity, the victor gains riches and influence in the Capitol. They become the most powerful person to live in the districts. Which is why they have to be the one to start a rebellion._

_I can understand if you're frightened by the concept. Well, Cailen, I know you wouldn't be. Ceedna and Denym, neither would you. And Harv and Lacey, I know you'd be nervous, but you would swallow your fear and do it because you have that courage and that kind desire to help make this country a better place. _

_As for anyone else, well, I can't say what you'd do. I can just hope. Hope that you understand it's worth the risks. That this life is not a free life, even if the Capitol pretends it is such. Please, for me and for the twenty-two other children who have died to get you where you are now, please destroy these Games. Please finish the rebellion._

_Dany Meine_

Her brother was stubborn, defiant and determined that he alone could take down the Capitol. But Danysa had a backup plan. She must have known the low chances of the Capitol allowing either sibling to leave the arena alive. So she left a note and whispered its location to as many people as she could without letting the cameras in the arena hear her words. Trying to incite her own little rebellion from the grave.

I hadn't listened – not at first. I'd figured that, no matter how harsh the Hunger Games may seem, they were still better than living in a time of war. And I'd gone through the arena, I'd fought my battles; I didn't need to go around starting more.

But then the Capitol started showing their true colours. Back home in District 1, I frequently received requests to come back to the city, to make an appearance at so-and-so's party. Each invitation was declined – I'd had more than enough of the Capitol – until President Deutschten decided it was time to make his _own_ appearance. At my house. Subtlety is not his forte and the threats to my family were _very_ clear by the time he left, this time with me in tow so that I could show up at some famous stylist's retirement celebration.

That was when a few of the citizens began to get ideas about having victors attend, not just public, but private affairs as well.

Still, I could handle all that. The last straw was when the president and his spineless assistant Ternatius went behind my back and convinced my sister to volunteer for the second Games.

"I thought you'd be proud of me."

The words hit my ears as I finally reach the cool fresh air of the rooftop, and they're such a shock that I nearly jump. But I don't need to turn around because I know that voice. How could I forget it?

"Spinel? Spinel, come on, look at me."

No. _No_. I am not crazy and I won't allow the president to think he's finally broken me. I'm not Ameryne.

"She was a good person, you know."Oh, I know; I know. And it's always the good ones that break. _Stop it!_ I scold myself. _Don't acknowledge what she says. You can't hear her; you're not crazy._ "I mean, she ended up eating someone. But she was good before that."

Ameryne Martel: the youngest member of my alliance at only fifteen. She was from District 4, and as irritating as she could be at times, she was like the Pack's little sister. No one could help but like her; even I felt a certain degree of affection towards her. But she was quite privileged, her father and mother doctors who had profited well from the war. Our arena was a battlefield and to remind the districts exactly what the war had cost them, the bodies of the dead were littered throughout the area. It was nearly impossible to find food, and for someone who'd had three extravagant meals a day, it was torture. We were all starving, but Ameryne was the first to break down and taste one of the many corpses we'd stumbled across.

After that, it was as though her mind just couldn't understand what she'd done. She was broken, beyond hope of ever being repaired, and we were forced to kill her quickly. But that hollowness in her eyes, that feeling that something was missing, haunts me to this day. I swore I would never become like that, never allow my mind to deteriorate. Never allow the Capitol to know I could be defeated. But now I'm seeing . . .

"Me." Keiley comes to stand right at my side, red pigtails bouncing, grey eyes wide and eager to take in the whole world around her. Exactly how she looked up until three days ago, when Zeus added a line of red across her throat. "Come on, Spinel, it's not that bad. You could be seeing worse things."

Once more, I ignore her, heading for the garden part of the roof and hoping the sound of the wind rushing through the plants will drown her out. No such luck. "Spinel. Spinel! Mom always says it's rude to avoid people. Especially family."

"Please go away." It's just a whisper, barely audible, but I curse myself for it all the same. Not only am I acknowledging her presence, but it sounds like I'm pleading, _begging _even. I can only hope the wind was loud enough to hide my words from the camera.

But even if the president will never hear, Keiley already has and doesn't hesitate to jump on the opportunity for conversation. "Why? We used to talk all the time. Some of my friends had older siblings too, and they always talked about how much they _hated_ each other. But you and I, we're different, right? Or maybe we're not . . . maybe that's why you did it."

No, no, not this. I've managed to convince myself that it was all for the best, that it was the right thing to do, but now she's _here_ and questioning it and I just- I can't think straight. "She's not here," I say, purposely referring to Keiley in third person – maybe she'll leave faster that way. Slowly, I sink into a sitting position, repeating the same words all the while. "She's not, she's not, she's _dead-_"

"And whose fault is that?"

_Five people. There are _five _tributes left. Two of them being from District 1._

_I can see them both now, the same scene played out on each monitor. Every station has two, one to focus on each tribute; but with the Careers, it's rather redundant as Keiley and Zeus have stuck together for practically the entire Games. Other than the glow from the pair of screens I sit at, the Control Centre is dark, and the empty feeling it holds makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end._

_Odd to think that, this time next year, I won't be the only one in this room._

_An image flits across my vision, the same one I've been trying to push away for nearly four weeks now, but for the first time since the 2__nd__ Games began, I allow myself to actually contemplate it. My little sister, Keiley, sitting in here happy and healthy with me, the two of us working together to help bring more children home. How perfect would that be?_

_Too perfect. I saw it when the bloodbath began, I saw it when the giant brute from 2 was beheaded and I saw it when she was covered in pieces of the girl from 4, who had walked into a Gamemaker trap and exploded. Keiley couldn't handle the Games, or what came after – especially if the president's current plan was put into action. She was cracking under the pressure, and I felt almost as though I was cringing, just waiting for the moment where she'd snap. Like Ameryne. _

_Still, she hasn't yet had to kill anyone. If she could . . . if she could somehow make it to the finale, ending one person's life wouldn't be that bad. I could help her, just like I've always helped her; we could get through the nightmares – both the dreams and the tragically real ones – together. Zeus seems to have lost his nerve anyways. So it might, might be fine if she came home. She wouldn't be crazy._

_I've been told that I can be a very stubborn person. I don't know if that's true, but I do know that I never allow myself to change my mind, to go back on a decision I've made. However, for the first time in nineteen years, I find myself doing just that. I made the wrong call, and that's fine. Because Keiley _is_ strong enough, and I _will _see her again. I don't mind admitting my mistake; in fact, I feel happier doing it._

_That's when Zeus opens his eyes, gaze darting from his sleeping ally to the sword at his belt. _

_I freeze, the brief feeling of elation disappearing as quickly as Keiley's chance of living. She trusted Zeus wholeheartedly, treated him like a second big brother during their stay in the Capitol. So she had no problem going to sleep with him lying armed only a foot away._

_And now he's going to murder her._

You wanted this, _my mind is saying desperately, _remember, you wanted this! _But I can't seem to conjure up that same desire I felt the night I told Zeus to kill my sister. _You wanted her safe, and this is for the best! She won't have to live with the guilt now. The Capitol won't ever break her. _No, no, I want her home now, I want her with _me_. I'll keep her safe. Death is . . . death is too final now. Zeus, stop!_

_But he's miles away, and there's nothing I can do except stare at the screen and hope with all my heart that he loses his nerve. The boy appears halfway there; he keeps adjusting the grip on his sword, switching the hilt from sweaty palm to sweaty palm and glancing up as though an answer might appear out of thin air. At one point, he looks straight at the camera and I want to scream as his eyes meet mine. Instead, I sit frozen in my chair, knuckles white from clenching the armrests so tightly. Horror holds me so petrified, I don't even flinch as he grits his teeth, kneels beside her and slides his blade straight across her throat._

_There's no sound – no scream, gasp, nothing. But her body twitches, her throat bleeds and her eyes fly open, pained eyes searching for the cause of this agony. Scared eyes searching for someone to make the death less terrifying. _

_Something jerks in my throat, and for a moment it truly feels as though my heart has lodged itself there. It's certainly beating louder, as though closer to my ears – a throbbing rhythm that shakes my entire body with each badum badum badum I hear. I can't do this; I have to . . . have to go. Yet I can't tear my eyes away as a cannon fires and suddenly, one of my two screens goes black._

The memory jerks through me and even though I constantly maintain a calm façade, never allowing an ounce of emotion to show, I can't help but flinch as the sight of Keiley's bloody corpse lying abandoned in the arena flashes before my eyes once more. I keep telling myself it was the right decision, that sometimes death is better than the alternative, but if that's so, why do I feel so _awful_? It's as though someone has carved out my insides, leaving nothing but an empty shell behind.

"Uh, is this roof taken?"

It's not Keiley's voice, thank god. I didn't even notice her disappear, but I don't think I'd be able to bear looking at her face after having gone through that memory again. My head rises from my hands – I can't remember even putting it there in the first place – and for a moment, relief seeps through me as I watch Zeus Dynamos come into view.

However, relief is quickly replaced by something not unlike embarrassment, and I quickly rearrange my position, trying to make myself appear more professional, and less like someone who was seeing dead relatives and moaning over memories. But by the way Zeus's eyebrow raises, I can tell I'm not entirely successful in wiping away my earlier moment of weakness. Still, he seems too surprised to say anything – perhaps due to my permanent state of neutrality during each of our previous interactions. He _does _like to exaggerate; I'm sure by this point he's decided I had no soul or some such nonsense. The boy truly has an interesting mind.

The shock seems to be wearing off as he's opening his mouth to speak, and I jump in quickly to cut him off. No – I'm not quite ready to discuss what just happened. "How do you know about the roof?"

His lips snap shut, brow furrowing slightly as though he can't guess why I'm bothering asking. Then, "Mira."

Ah, of course. The eighteen-year-old District 12 prostitute. It was quite interesting watching her and Zeus interact. Oh, he'd stuck with the Careers, of course, but nevertheless, he somehow made time for the tall, dark-haired beauty from the Seam. The two of them began by teasing and flirting aimlessly, but things escalated quickly, to the point where Zeus had spent only three of the seven Capitol days sleeping on our floor. The interesting part was that they both were only doing it to gain information on the other, and they both _knew_ this fact. Yet they kept at it. I've no idea why – perhaps some genuine feelings began to grow between two tributes who'd originally thought they were too jaded to ever actually care for another.

He comes to sit next to me in silence, the conversation about his now-dead flame clearly done. Which is bad, because I can see him preparing to talk about _me_. "So, you're a victor now," I say, stopping him once more.

The look he gives me couldn't be more derisive. "No shit."

It's always odd hearing such crude language; that sort of thing was unheard of in my part of the district. Mind you, 1 is essentially divided in two parts: the neighbourhood that brings up all the lovely ladies and gentlemen, and the one that hosts the tougher children who better fit the mold of what is quickly becoming the "Career stereotype". And, thinking back to the day of the reapings and the behaviour of Zeus's father when he volunteered, it's not hard to guess which side of the district he comes from.

_Came_ from, I guess. Now he'll be moving into Victor's Village, occupying one of the twelve empty houses that populate the elite neighbourhood. I'm assuming his father won't be joining him.

My eyes have been staring at his face for most of our brief conversation, and only now do I register the fact that he's shirtless – instead, crisp, white bandages weave their way around his torso, tied off over one shoulder. Covering his legs is a thin pair of pants, though they're hiked up on one side to make way for the cast encasing his left calf. And suddenly, it hits me. "Shouldn't you be in the hospital right now?"

"It smells funny."

There's no end to the surprises this boy can bring; though after winning the Hunger Games, I suppose sneaking out of the Training Centre basement and finding his way to the roof isn't nearly as impressive. "The doctors will be looking for you."

"Does it look like I care?"

I raise an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile nearly finding its way to my lips. They'll probably install restraining devices on the hospital beds after this. But for now, at least, we'll have a few moments of peace.

"I noticed you never came down, by the way," Zeus begins, giving me a sideways glance after I make no move to further the conversation. "Not even checking up on your winning tribute. Thanks for that. Worst mentor ever."

"Technically, as you've just won and have yet to help a tribute, I'm the only mentor ever. So I am simultaneously the worst and best."

He looks at me, and for a moment I almost believe he had trouble following that logic. Then, "Whatever." He leans back, wincing at the stress his ribs bear as he lowers himself into a position lying on the ground. "Where were you anyways?"

"Out."

"Do I need to repeat "no shit"?"

I glance over at him, narrowed blue eyes glaring suspiciously at me, and I make the surprising realisation that he's a bit hurt. Of course I'd wanted to go see him as soon as he got out of the arena; unfortunately, the president had had other plans.

Plans I don't feel like sharing now, not as another shiver of disgust creeps up my spine. But he needs to know; judging by what Ternatius said, Zeus could receive a little white invitation card any day now. "Do you remember what I told you about being a victor, the night before you went into the Games?"

"Uhhh . . . blah, blah, something about victor life sucking?" He screws up his face in concentration, trying to remember, and I don't distract him; honestly, I'd rather him figure it out then force me to say it. Another moment passes in silence, then Zeus's eyes widen, his mouth dropping open. "You mean . . . that thing you were telling me, the selling the victors . . ."

"Last night, there was a "trial run" with the president's niece. Fellasia Strombin. Apparently it was a huge hit." I watch him carefully, curious as to what his reaction might be. "People are clamouring to pay. For me _and_ you."

Interesting – his expression morphs into one of pure disgust before his hands cover his face, as though trying to hide him from the idea. "Oh man . . ."

"I wouldn't have thought it'd be much of a problem for you."

His reaction to this sentence is even bigger than the last; hands sliding off his face, he shoots into a sitting position, eyes narrowing slightly at the pain from his injuries. "Not much of a problem?! How in _hell _is being forced to have sex with strangers "not much of a problem"?!"

"Is it not the same thing as what you did with Mira?"

"What? No!"

"How so?"

He's glaring at me now, furious – as though _I'm_ the cause of this problem. "Because- because I wasn't getting paid to . . ."

"In money. You were in information."

I don't think his face could get any redder, or his expression more enraged. "How . . . you . . ." Apparently there are no words that can describe his anger, because he ends up shoving himself to his feet and turning to limp away. Something stops him though, and he whirls back, grabbing something out of his pocket to hurl at my feet.

"Thought you might have wanted it." He's practically snarling as I peer down at the object in question, merely curious at first. Then my blood runs cold. "Though it might have "sentimental value". Hah, yeah right. You're a heartless freak. "I want you to kill my sister"; what kind of insane, maniacal sadist wants that? Well, I did it for you, jerk, and you can keep that as a reminder of just how screwed up you are."

It's . . . It's Keiley's wind chime.

She loved the things, loved the sounds they made, even went so far as to bring a little one into the arena as her token. Zeus must have taken it from her when she died.

"I don't want it." My words ring clearly across the roof, easily heard by Zeus, who hasn't yet made it to the stairwell. I'm not looking in his direction, but I can hear his shuffling feet stop. All is quiet for a moment. Then, he laughs.

It's a disbelieving laugh, not necessarily meant to be rude, and yet it grates against my nerves all the same. "Well, it's yours."

"I don't want it."

He's moving now, but not away; it sounds like he's turning towards me. "Are you freaking serious?" Another footstep, then a sliding noise as he limps back over. "Wow, I was completely off about that sentimental value thing, wasn't I?" I can just imagine the look of disgust plastered back on his face. "Well, too bad. I think the nightmares are more than enough; I don't need another reminder of the guilt."

"Neither do I."

These words stop him short – perhaps it's the admission that I actually do feel emotions, including shame. And anger, which, as hard as I try to remain impassive, I'm sure is evident in my expression. It's draining out of his, though, allowing confusion to seep through his features. As I said, he's rather narrow-minded, and I don't suppose he'd ever entertained the idea that I could have a personality outside of _emotionless._

For a while, neither of us speaks. However, I've learned that Zeus grows quite uncomfortable during silences, and I'm fully prepared for him to break the quiet settling over the roof. However, I could never have anticipated the question he asks. "Was it worth it?"

"With Keiley," he continues, in a tone softer than I've ever heard come from the boy. "And me kill- . . . well, do you think it's really better for-"

"I can't answer that question right now."

My abrupt interruption shakes him, and his eyes narrow slightly, an expression I've grown used to seeing on him. "But you-"

"Please." I look him directly in the eyes and while I don't want to sound like I'm begging, I need to communicate to him that I just can't talk about this right now.

Something he does manage to pick up on and his eyebrows rise once more at the fact that I'm asking him a favour. But, surprisingly out of character, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he shuffles forward, though instead of sitting again like I'd assumed he'd do, he stoops to pick up the wind chime. He actually listened to and obeyed my words – by far the most shocking thing he's done since I met him.

He can't, however, seem to just leave with the wind chime. There's a bitter grimace on his face, and I realise with a slight pang of guilt that my sister's token might bring up as many awful feelings in him as it does me. Which must be why, after another moment of hesitating, he stretches out an arm and loops the wind chime's thin string around one of the tree's overhanging branches. His eyes dart from it to me one last time, as though expecting me to object. But I don't say anything, so slowly, without another word, he turns and heads for the roof's exit.

I remain where I am even after he leaves, seemingly unable to move a muscle. My gaze is focused entirely on the wind chime though, which has now begun to fill the air with music as a breeze drifts through the garden. It brings back every memory I have of home, of our back porch, where Keiley used to sit and read while the chimes danced around her. I'd never truly appreciated them – they were too loud for me to enjoy. Even now, the harsh tinkling grates against my eardrums, only igniting my earlier emotions and causing them to morph, guilt and sadness slowly turning into fear. No, I have no idea if Keiley dying was a better alternative than her being put through the life of a victor – but why should I have to make that decision? I agreed to help my father, and he agreed to help the Capitol, so I volunteered for the Games to help get the intended message across: that going into the arena is an honour. I lied, bled and killed in that place all for them, and they still had the nerve to take my sister away from me. I just feel . . . feel . . .

Like Cailen and Danysa Meine.

My eyes are still watching the wind chime, but slowly, they begin to roam, taking in every inch of the tree before me. And suddenly, I know exactly what I'm going to do.

It takes two more days for Zeus's injuries to fully heal, during which time the doctors make sure he stays safely in bed. I visit him a few times, rarely speaking – mostly I just listen to his raging complaints against the restraining band, the medical tubes and needles in his arm, the hospital food, the unattractiveness of his nurses. And while I know the boy loves to grumble about anything and everything, I can tell part of it is just to prevent himself from focusing on other, less trivial things. Like the memories of his Games.

Most of the time, though, I spend locked in my room on our floor, only coming out to order more supplies from the nearest Avox. I can tell they find my requests odd, though surprisingly, I still receive what I ask for. I don't know where they get everything, but I can't really find it in myself to care – I'm too occupied with my project.

With tonight being the Games recaps, Zeus is spending the entire day with his stylist to prepare himself, which means I can devote every moment to working. Thankfully I have yet to receive another "invitation" from the president – I'm assuming he and Ternatius are still working out the price ranges and methods of scheduling appointments. Well, they could take as long as they wanted – I'm in no hurry to repeat my night with Fellasia Strombin or any other Capitol citizen.

After three solid days of working, I finally finish, just before my escort, Cherry, starts pounding on the door to my room, shouting about how we're going to be "late, late, incredibly, undeniably _late_!" I call out that I'll meet her in the lobby in a few moments and with an irritated _huff_ I can hear all the way on the other side of the wall, she reluctantly walks off. And, while my first elevator trip isn't to the ground floor of the Centre at all, I finish my business on the roof quick enough that I'm asked no questions when I finally make it down to the lobby.

There's an almost anxious fire burning within me, yet it has nothing to do with the fact that in one short hour, I'll be forced to relive my sister's death as it's played once more on the big screen. No, I've already made up my mind to get over my sadness, and while others may call such emotional control inhuman, I believe that ignoring my feelings and instead choosing to _do _something is far more important.

But I can't get to Zeus until after the recaps and the party that follows suit. Both are torturous to get through, only because I can barely stand the wait. My fingers drum impatiently on my chair during the entire three hour Games video, eyes focused on Zeus the entire time as though that will allow our conversation to come closer. I watch his careless, cocky expression falter slightly as Mira Obsidan is torn to pieces by a pack of vicious mutts, and nearly break completely when it comes time for him to murder Keiley, but the events hardly register in my mind. Because I won't allow myself to wallow in guilt and mourn my sister any longer – not when I can do something about it.

Finally, _finally_ we return to the Training Centre and Cherry is drunk enough from the party to agree when I ask her to take the elevator up to our floor alone. "We'll be right behind you," I say, but she doesn't appear to even need this extra reassurance. Her head is already bobbing in a groggy nod, fumbling fingers reaching for the button on the wall – I have a feeling she'll need an Avox's help to find her way to bed tonight.

However she gets in the elevator just fine, and soon the doors have closed, leaving myself and a skeptical Zeus behind.

"What do you want?"

I don't turn at his words, impatiently waiting for the elevator to return to our floor so we can go up. "I have to show you something."

"Honestly?" He moves to my side, trying to make eye contact, but as soon as he reaches me, the elevator doors open once more and I'm striding inside, Zeus just barely managing to keep up. He groans when I hit the 12 button, though he can't possibly know what I have in store for him – I think he's just irritated at the fact that I'm taking him so far from our floor. "Can't this wait?"

"No."

His stare is quickly morphing into a glare as he runs one hand through his heavily gelled hair. "Look, I'm really not in the mood for this."

I wouldn't think so – not after being forced to relive his Games. Or the fact that, afterwards during the Victory Banquet, he met dozens of admirers, some young and some disturbingly old, all who enjoyed dropping less than subtle hints about "seeing him very, _very_ soon." This prostitution aspect is getting to him a lot more than I'd thought it would.

Still, I don't allow him to get off early, and he huffily resigns himself to riding to the top floor. However, once the elevator doors open, he refuses to step out with me. "I'm not coming."

Knowing no amount of asking or demanding will get him to budge, I say the one thing I know will work. "Suit yourself." And then I stride off towards the door to the roof.

Seconds later, Zeus comes grumbling behind me. He can be remarkably predictable.

The two of us reach the rooftop quickly, and I can tell he notices the difference the moment he steps outside. "What's that noise?"

I don't answer, instead continuing to lead him around the roof. His muffled footsteps are clearly audible behind me, as is the muttered curse when he accidentally kicks something in the dark – but that all stops the moment we reach the garden.

"Holy crap."

Where once only one was present, hundreds of wind chimes now hang, sometimes two, three, four to a tree branch, all dancing wildly in the wind and creating a raucous melody of notes. I'm not exactly an artistic person, and most of them are roughly made with bits crudely glued together, yet they do their job. It's a shrine. A completely innocent-seeming shrine made by a distraught brother for his dead sister.

And it makes enough noise to drown out anyone says up here.

So now I can freely turn to Zeus, without any worries of consequences, and snap him out of his surprised expression with my next words.

"We're going to start a rebellion."

* * *

**_I love writing young Zeus, for some reason, he's just so much fun :D Anyways, hope everyone liked it! I have a few more oneshot ideas brewing in my head, but if there are any specific victors you'd like to see more of (I know there are a few favourites) or any particular moments you want to see in a victor's life (pre-Games, Games, post-Games), just lemme know! Thank you!_**


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